


Birds of a Feather

by Gay_as_fuck



Category: Ambiguous Fandom, Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Character, Avengers Tower, Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forming friendship, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male Bonding, Nerve Damage, autistic characters, nerve pain, not really that much angst, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 13:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13928352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gay_as_fuck/pseuds/Gay_as_fuck
Summary: Stephen Strange and Matt Murdock bond over being the only people awake at 3:06 in Avengers Tower while they deal with some sensory issues. They find that they have more in common then they might have thought.





	Birds of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

> me? projecting onto these two characters? more likely than you think.
> 
> Feel free to take Matt as whatever version of him you want, but this one was based off the TV show and mark waid's run bc those were my first experiences with Daredevil (I've been a DC gal before). This take on Dr. Strange was based of the Dr. Strange "way of the weird" comic which is one of my fav takes on him! I haven't watched the movie (bc of the white washing). 
> 
> also: I do not know what nerve damage is like but I did a bit of research so here's to hoping I didn't get anything wrong.

Stephen Strange awoke in pain. It was as if his entire body had been set aflame. His eyes burst open, and he found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. He frowned at that, waking up somewhere that wasn’t the Sanctum Sanctorum was never good. 

He took a moment to regulate his pain first before trying to figure out where he was. Even in his slightly groggy mind he knew that he wasn’t on fire, it just felt like it. His hands were the problem, and he grimaced as another wave of burning pass through them. 

He carefully pulled himself up into a sitting position from where he lay on his back. He scanned his room, and thankfully found his brain was quick to supply an explanation. He was in Avengers tower, after getting into a particularly bad scramble yesterday. 

It had been the usual type of fight, a villian who caused more general damage than anything else. Those battles usually ended up being mostly damage control, but this one had managed to make an apartment building tumble. Stephen had, of course, put all of his focus into making sure it didn’t hit the ground. 

And the man had shot him in the gut. He had not used any special ray beam or magic bullet. Stephen had been shot with a regular gun, but a slightly more than regular man. It was almost pathetic, if not for the fact that he had managed to stop the building from falling. 

At least it has still been standing when he had blacked out. 

He pulled his hands onto his lap, and stared down at them. They still hurt like hell, and were shaking more than usual. It wasn’t usual for his hands to act so violently after a fight, but he had overdone himself a little too much last time. 

He carefully stood up and eyed the room. It was sparse, and looked more akin to a hotel room than anything else. There was a digital clock on the bedside table, which unfortunately read 3:06. The lights seemed to recognize that he had moved, and suddenly he could really understand his surroundings in more than outlines.

He knew that he wasn’t going to get any more sleep. He was already mostly awake, and the pain didn’t feel as if were going to subside any time soon. It was never really gone, but on the average day it didn’t make him feel like he was carrying the olympic torch in his bare palms.

He looked down at his torso, only to discover he was wearing scrubs. Better than a hospital gown, and easy enough to move about it. 

They were a little course however, and his body didn’t seem to want to handle anything that wasn’t a cloud of comfort. His senses were turned up to 11 and he knew they weren’t coming back down. 

He’d always had sensory problems, and that was part of the reason everyone thought he was so picky. Of course Dr. Strange won’t eat your food he’s too good for it. Of course Dr. Strange won’t stay the night he’s too good for it.

The truth was, he had trouble with food that wasn’t the right texture, and staying in someone else’s bed was usually sensory hell. He swayed slightly, and sat back down on the bed. The heavy comforter scrapped against the back of his legs in a way it shouldn’t have. 

He grimaced, today was really not his day. 

A small old fashioned suitcase on the other side of the room caught his attention. It stuck out from the rest of the room, as being well used and personal. Stephen immediately knew what it was, and that it was his saving grace.

When Tony had decided that he’d let everyone stay in the tower whenever they wanted, he’d made sure everyone had a spare room. That had been when their numbers had been a little smaller, so some spare rooms were used for multiple people.

Tony had asked everyone to back an overnight bag, complete with a fresh change of civilian clothing, hero suit, and whatever else they might need. Strange had included his second favorite bathrobe in that bag since he could not stand being in soggy clothing all day. Even when it dried it still felt all wrong on his skin.

He stood up, and made his way over to the suitcase with measured purpose. He did not want to re-open his wounds or anything. Once he was standing over it, the hard part came: actually opening it and changing clothes. 

He considered bending down, and sparing himself to overexertion that came with magic. But there was a gunshot wound right where is body would fold. Not a smart choice. 

He kneeled down instead, grunting a little with pain. He knew where the infirmary was, and he knew what he was doing. 

With his spasming hands, he did his best to undo the locks. He only had to stop once and regain his composer. He usually had a better pain tolerance but, now? Not so much. It was miserable, he just wanted to be knocked out so he could sleep. That sounded wonderful.

His brain reminded him of the problems that came with being unconscious including but not limited to: accidentally smothering himself, opening his wounds and bleeding out, something of the avengers going haywire, something of his going haywire, and a myriad of other issues. 

With a snap and thud, the front of his suitcase fell open, and its contents spilled out onto him. He eyed what he had packed very carefully and picked out the lightly blue bathrobe. It felt so good against his hands, and its coolness gave him a brief moment of peace before the pain came again.

He stood up with an undignified grunt, the bathrobe clutched loosely in his hands. He undressed slowly, careful not to stretch his side to much. He knew how easily stitches could break, and he didn’t want to bleed out in his room. 

He knew he wouldn’t have enough energy to get help if he started losing more blood than he already had. Common sense reminded him that there was tech in every room to make sure that no one went into critical condition unnoticed. 

Still, passing out from blood loss again, especially after only getting up and stretching, would be humiliating. The avengers probably wouldn’t care but, well, it didn’t always matter what other people thought. 

Once had had changed out of his scrubs, minus the boxers he was glad he didn’t have to put on, he put on his bathrobe. It was almost immediately heaven, with no more of the scratching or itching that came from his scrubs. The robe was softer and lighter than anything else he owned. 

His favorite bathrobe had burned up a few weeks ago. Meaning this robe was automatically getting pushed up to the favorite position.

His hands still really fucking hurt, so he made his way towards the exit of the room. He opened the door and automatically the lights sprang to life. He coughed slightly, and turned his eyes towards the ceiling. He was always hesitant about his part. 

“Javris?”

“Yes Dr. Strange?” The voice came from somewhere in the ceiling, and for once Stephen didn’t have to look anyone in the eyes. It was almost amazing, except he had learned his lessons about disembodied voices. 

“Don’t turn the lights on where ever I walk. Or, at least kept them dim, if that’s a function.” The light immediately dimmed where he was, but didn’t start up anywhere else.

“Hmm, I was not aware these lights had a dimmer.” 

“Dr. Banner asked Tony to have them installed, so they’re here.” Stephen hummed slightly at that, and continued his path to the infirmitory. The lights turned on every so often in a dim and warm tone.

“May I ask where you are going?” Jarvis piped in, startling him. If he had not known better he would have turned around to face a perceived threat.

“To get painkillers.” He muttered, not liking to admit weakness to anyone, including a robot that Tony had direct access to. 

“Then, I must warn you, you’ll have company.” Stephen raised an eyebrow as he turned a corner, and found himself almost to the door of the infirmitory.

“Daredevil is currently in the infirmary, but according to his life signs he’s not been injured. He’s in some sort of discomfort. Perhaps you could tell him what painkillers are best?” Stephen nodded, fully knowing that Jarvis could see him.

He opened the door to the infirmary, and everything was dark. He could make out the faint outline of someone, Daredevil presumably, standing on the infirmary table. He turned the moment Stephen opened the door.

“I’m no threat.” Were the only words Stephen could think to say, and they seemed to calm Daredevil a little. 

Out of the heroes in the world, most of them were welcome to stay the night in avengers tower, but they lacked the luxury of having their private rooms. Daredevil was one of them, who Stephen could recall from the fight yesterday.

“I assume you know I’m daredevil.” Daredevil said, to which Stephen nodded his head. “And you are?” 

“Dr. Strange.” He seemed to consider the answer for a moment, before speaking again, this time with more conviction in his voice.

“Jarvis, turn on the lights.”

“Softly!” Stephen followed up quickly, and the lights came on in a dull glow. 

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m standing on the infirmary table in the dark?” Daredevil said, but made no move go climb down off the table. 

“One of many things, but I’m not used to light based headaches.” Stephen offered his best assumption as to why Daredevil was in the dark. He had a much less formed idea as to why he was standing on the table. 

“It doesn’t bother me, because I don’t need it.” Stephen paused for a moment, and opened his mouth to say something extremely nerdy like “Night Vision.” 

“I’m blind.” He admitted, and squatted down to be at a more reasonable level when talking to the doctor. 

“Ah.” That explained it. Stephen took the moment to look over his late night companion. Daredevil was a somewhat messy looking red head, with unfocused eyes. The blindness explained those away. He was wearing scrubs, the same as Strange had been a moment ago. 

Stephen was torn between making a B-line for the medicine cabinet and downing the first pain killer he could find and uncovering more information about Daredevil. 

Stephen made his way to the medicine cabinet when his hands sent him gritting his teeth again with a wave of burning. Daredevil’s head did not follow Strange, but he was clearly still on alert. Strange opened the cabinet and found something he recognized as reasonably non-addictive. 

“That gunshot wound bothering you?” Daredevil sounded concerned, but there was no way for him to know what Stephen was taking.

“It is, but not as much as my hands are.” Stephen stared down at the child proof cap, knowing that he was unable to open it. His faulty hands wouldn’t be able to do it. 

“Hands?” Daredevil asked, and Stephen realized that a statement like that probably needed to be explained, especially since his hands seemed like there was nothing wrong. 

“Nerve damage, it happened a long time ago, and set me on the path I’m on now.” He wasn’t in the mood to explain his origin story to a stranger. Daredevil didn’t ask any more, so Stephen didn’t tell.

 

He stared down helplessly at the bottle. His hands refused to help open a bottle that would make him feel better. It would help and his body refused it. 

Daredevil came to rescue Stephen from the breakdown closing in on him. He was high strung and exhausted after such a draining series of events. Daredevil got off the table, and came over to where stephen was standing.

Without saying anything to the doctor, he opened the bottle’s cap and placed both down on the counter. Stephen was torn between his head berading him for failing such an easy task, and his heart for the sheer relief that came from Daredevil’s help.

Stephen took the bottle, poured out two pills onto his unsteady hands and dry swallowed them. He placed the bottle back down, just narrowly avoiding dropping it. 

There was a moment of silence, while Stephen tried to wet his throat with spit. He failed at that, and grimaced at the leftover taste of medicine. Matt did not do anything or say anything. Stephen turned to his companion, and in a shaky voice broke the silence.

“Thank you, Daredevil” It was all he had to say. Daredevil cracked a smile, and hesitantly put his hand to Stephen’s shoulder, before drawing it back before they touched. 

“You can call me Matt.” The name seemed to fit him in an odd way. A perfectly ordinary name for the most unusual of men. 

“Of course, you can call me Stephen.” Matt nodded, and rocked back on his feet in the silence that followed. 

“Would you like to, go sit somewhere else?” Stephen offered, to which Matt nodded and began walking towards the door. Stephen followed him and the moment they left the room the lights shut off in the infirmitory. 

Matt made his way towards the kitchen, and the lights began to light up at half power. Stephen was grateful that he didn’t have to keep asking Jarvis.

The kitchen was large and industrial. The island counter and kitchen table had both been made of a reinforced titanium-steel alloy, since sometimes sleepy super soldiers weren’t careful with their strength. 

Matt went straight for the fridge, which stored enough food to feed a busy restaurant. It was mostly cold takeout, leftovers, and slabs of meat no one had bothered to cook yet. Stephen was by his side, appraising the food options. 

Matt took a deep breath in, and after a moment, he reached his hand out to grab a container of chinese food. He sniffed it again, and handed it over to Stephen. The box was rather large, about as tall and wide as Stephen’s hands.

“What is this?” He asked, and sniffed the box in the way Matt had. He wasn’t able to decerine any scent from it. 

“Yellow rice, it’s about the simplest thing they have.” The line reminded Stephen that despite how Matt was currently hanging around in Avengers Tower, he wasn’t actually and Avenger. He put down the rice on the counter while Matt continued to sniff around. 

“I’m used to non-american food. I lived in Tibet for a while.” This seemed to pique Matt’s interest, since he stopped for a moment.

“I can get you something else it’s just-” He paused for a moment, and took a half shaky breath. “I was pickout out food that wouldn’t fuck with my senses right now.” Matt stepped back and closed the fridge door.

“It’s nothing- It’s fine.” He opened the fridge again, but didn’t reach for anything. 

Neither of them moved. Matt swayed slightly where he was standing, and refused to turn his head towards Stephen, who was too tired to try and work his way out of an emotional situation. 

“It’s fine, I just want something simple.” Stephen said, which seemed to cheer Matt up somewhat. He closed the fridge once again, and moved to sit at the stools by the counter. Stephen handed him the box, and began rummaging around the drawers for forks. 

After finding them, he closed the cabinet before walking over and sitting next to Matt. He handed over one of the forks and repositioned the box to being in between them. Matt flipped it open, and Stephen dug in. His hands shook a little, but didn’t bring him nearly as much pain as before. 

They sat in silence for a while, eating their plain yellow rice. Matt shifted every few minutes, still looking a tad uncomfortable. 

“What’s the problem?” Stephen asked, causing Matt to pause and turn away.

“I’ve told you more about myself in a night, then I have the rest of the Avengers’ combined. And I still think I owe you some explanations.” He took another fork full of rice to shut himself up.

“Why don’t you explain then?”

“Where do I start.” Matt let out a short self deprecating snort. Stephen frowned, and tapped his hand against his chin. 

“Why don’t you start with why you were standing on the infirmary bed?” Matt finished chewing his mouthful before responding. 

“I can fight crime because, in place of my eyesight, I have heightened senses. It doesn’t make up for the blindness but, it has its perks.” He smiled slightly, recalling something that Stephen probably wouldn’t understand. 

Matt wasn’t talking about the circumstances of what he had been doing when Stephen had run into him, but he had some idea. He let his companion continue talking.

“The problem with heightened senses, is that sometimes they go haywire. Leaving me in what can only be described as sensory hell. It’s always been a problem but after the accident it got so much worse.” Stephen’s eyes widened, and he took another bite. 

“I think I understand. I’m wearing a fluffy blue bathrobe because textures are pretty terrible.” Matt chucked slightly, and put down his fork.

“I was really wondering what that was.” Stephen smiled, and stared at Matt. He was beginning to like his new acquaintance. 

“I think I owe you some explanations.” Stephen said as Matt picked up his fork again and took another bite. 

“No, really you don’t need to tell me anything personal.” Matt rushed to say the moment he had finished chewing. 

“I want to. I’ve always had that problem, but after I crashed my car, I really fucked up my hands. Nerve damage so bad I can hardly write. I went looking for a cure in the form of magic, but it hasn’t really helped the functioning or the pain.” 

Stephen looked down at his shaking hands. The spasms had not become any less terrible, but his pain had died down thanks to the quick and effective meds the tower had in stock.

“The magic-” Matt started, “does it make up for it?”

“No, but on most days I’m glad I have magic.” Matt nodded and furrowed his eyebrows. He took another bite of rice while he considered something. 

“I’m trying to get there. It’s the sensory issues that are the problem.” He muttered and chewed another forkfull as he looked down. 

“Well, whenever it gets too bad, you can just come eat cold plain rice in the middle of the night with me.” Matt smiled, and gave a short laugh before extending his own offer.

“You’re always welcome to do the same.” Stephen scrounge up another forkfull and lifted it up, clinking the metal together with Matt’s fork.

“Cheers.” Matt chuckled with Stephen, as they seriously considered taking up each other’s offers.


End file.
